The Prisoner - Carlos J. Cortes [68]
Rather than heading for the slurry lagoon, the tractor stopped. Tyler frowned, watching as Antonio dashed toward the tractor, propelled by his prosthetic legs, his arms moving like the wings of a bird about to take flight. The quiet existence at the farm had given the battered Antonio a new lease on life. Still, the last time Tyler shared supper with the Salinas family, he was aghast at the tuna–noodle casserole with crumbled potato chips on top, followed by Jell-O laced with canned mandarin-orange slices and shredded carrots. A far cry from the Mexican feast Tyler had hoped for.
By the poplars, Antonio continued his gesticulation, pointing up and waving his son toward the machinery shed.
Tyler let the curtain fall and hobbled across the room to his maps, his mind shifting from pig manure to Laurel’s latest signal. He remembered well the army technician Sergeant Santos Hernandez. How could he forget? One of the rare wizards of Explosive Ordnance Disposal, his team was often called upon to deal with seemingly impossible tasks, like removing the belt from a repentant suicide bomber whose charge had failed to go off. The brass had suggested clearing a wide area and letting a sniper detonate the explosives attached to the bastard. Sergeant Hernandez would have none of it. Decked in his body armor, he walked the wretch to the middle of a field and sweated for two endless hours under a merciless sun to remove fifty pounds of high explosives fiendishly attached to a much-booby-trapped harness. In the end, it was a useless gesture. Once freed of his load, the man tried to make a run for it and the sniper carved another notch into his weapon.
Explosives. Tyler’s eyes roamed the Washington, D.C., map. Henry was a strangely honorable man in a dishonorable world. No blood. No innocents. How much explosive could six people carry? Thirty pounds each? Forty? He continued to scan the map. Capitol Hill, the White House, and the Pentagon were out of the question. Too many security measures. That left airports, power stations, road junctions, gasworks, trains … Henry would be planning a rattle. A mighty rattle. Then he froze and did a quick double take. He wouldn’t dare. Tyler turned on his heel, and a searing pain shot from his left knee. He limped to his desk, his eye on the secure phone to warn the senator. He rested his glass, now mostly water, on a small area clear of papers—and stopped cold. The light had changed. Tyler charged toward the window and slapped the curtain aside, suddenly realizing what Antonio had been warning Mateo about. Storm clouds had quickly gathered overhead, and the poplars leaned as if pushed by unseen hands. Sweet Lord, no! He watched in dismay as large drops of rain threw themselves in heavy snatches on the terra-cotta tiles fronting the house.
Henry’s “crumbly” was nightmarish. After going down three more shafts, they landed in an oval tunnel of bricks in all shades of gray and black. Oozing gray excrescences dangled from the ceiling like an upside-down forest.
“Holy—” Laurel gasped.
At her side, Susan hawked and spat a glob of phlegm onto the wall. “They’ve been called snotsicles, shitsicles, and you-name-it-sicles. By any name, bad news.”
“Why?” Laurel jumped at the opportunity to get her taciturn companion to talk.
Susan withdrew a scarf from her pocket that once must have been printed with flowers but now was a confusion of grime and brown streaks. She tied it tightly around her head. “That dangling, jiggly fucking slime gets in your hair like a gel and dries into a hard, crisp coat.”
Laurel lowered the dome of her head toward Susan. “I have an advantage.”
“How right you are.” A cackling laugh followed. “Look.” Without breaking stride, Susan reached high and grabbed a handful of the spaghettilike formations. They wriggled in her hand like live worms. “Their consistency is similar to very thick come. See?” She squeezed. “The outermost layer is slippery, wet, and shiny. Just beneath this is a rubbery substance.”
Henry stepped aside and stopped, waving his arms to keep the rest